An Undercover Kiss
by NicolleOrgana
Summary: A guide to hiding from Imperials in plain sight.


"I told you we were going the wrong way!" Leia hissed under her breath as they darted down an abandoned alley in an effort to avoid a small group of Imps idling in the street up the way. The pair hadn't been spotted so far, but there was no guarantee that their luck would hold out. (Especially not with their usual brand of luck, specifically, the _bad_ kind.)

"Not the time, sweetheart." Han muttered, more to himself than to her, as he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a small alcove hidden in the alley wall.

Their mission had been been a bust — after they'd lingered for half-an-hour at the hole-in-the-wall where they'd been scheduled to meet their contact, it became increasingly clear she wasn't going to show at all — leaving Leia with a gnawing feeling deep in the pit of her stomach.

This wasn't some random unknown contact, but someone Leia had known for years — the fact that she hadn't shown up indicated something was likely very, very wrong.

Her fingers itched to draw her weapon — legs tensed, preparing to run.

She had a very bad feeling.

For his part, Han had sat across the table from her, almost unnaturally silent, watching the the worry grow minute by minute in Leia's eyes. If Leia was concerned, than he damned well was too.

In his life, Han had never given much credence to the supernatural — mystical powers beyond what the eye could see… but when it came to Leia —

He'd always believed in following one's gut feelings, but there was nothing magical about that.

— he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was _almost_ something — something just on the edge of — he hated just thinking the word _psychic_ — but sometimes it seemed like there was something beyond the typical 'gut-feeling' when it came to Leia. She had an almost supernatural ability to sense danger — was almost spookily accurate in her predictions.

He'd been from one side of the galaxy to the other — and seen a lot of things. Strange things, abnormal things — and because she was almost never wrong about these things, nothing in his life had ever given him the same feeling of dread as when Leia opened her mouth and uttered those eight familiar words —

"Han, I have a bad feeling about this."

He'd seen it in her eyes, had known she was going to say it.

"Yeah, me too." He agreed.

He tossed some credits on the table, and with a practiced-casual two-finger salute to the bartender they slipped into the crowd outside.

They'd hardly seen a single Imperial on the way in, but now the streets seemed to be crawling with them, and he was pretty sure it wasn't just his paranoia.

Leia wrapped her simple brown shawl around herself tighter, the side of her blaster pressed against her stomach underneath the fabric — ready.

Han could see over the crowd that the way they'd come was now jammed with a roadblock, Imperials checking the IDs of everyone coming through, slowing down the foot-traffic on the main route back to the docks.

He nudged her shoulder and then cocked his head slightly towards a side-street when he had her attention. She nodded silently, following.

There was no way to know for certain if they were actively being searched for, or if it was just a random checkpoint. Leia knew their fake IDs would pass muster, but that didn't mean their faces wouldn't be recognized.

They doubled back towards the bar and then turned down another side street, going in what they thought was the general direction of the Falcon on any street free of troopers.

And that was how they found themselves — hiding — pressed chest-to-stomach, in a tiny alcove in a narrow alley.

In any other circumstance Leia might have accused him of using the situation to his advantage, an excuse to force them closer together — but she knew better than that. This wasn't Echo Base or even the _Falcon_ — Han didn't mess around like that on missions — the stakes were too high — and he certainly never fucked around with her safety. Everything Han did in the field was for the express purpose of keeping them alive. Leia's priority was the mission — but Han's priority was _her_.

They stood in silence — hardly even daring to breathe — eyes locked steadily, unwavering on one another.

The imperials were lingering outside the alley entrance now, chatting idly about nothing, their voices echoing down the stone walls, carrying easily. _"You hear they're upgrading the T-15s?_ "

 _Please_ , Leia prayed to any god who might be listening, _please don't let them come down here._

But it was futile, almost the second she thought the words the footsteps grew louder — closer.

They were outnumbered four-to-two, a fight the Rebel pair was confident they could win if they employed the element of surprise — but so far it seemed likely that they had slipped under the Imperial radar and a firefight would almost certainly alert the local forces to their presence. But what other choice did they have, Leia wondered? They were hidden, but they weren't hidden _well_. You couldn't see into their hiding place from the main road but there was no way they wouldn't be spotted if the imperials came much farther.

Her mind ran in circles at a lightspeed, and she could see in Han's eyes that he was gearing up for a fight. His knuckles white where he gripped the blaster at his hip, preparing to jump in front of her if necessary.

An idea occurred to her suddenly, and she chewed her lip, debating. If they got a good look at her face the jig could very well be up, but _maybe_ , if they just kept their heads down, they could escape with their lives and limbs intact and still avoid a firefight.

Decision made, Leia pulled her hood up higher over her head, hiding the possibly recognizable braid wrapped in a crown around it.

Footsteps drawing nearer, Leia had only moments to put her plan into action. She grabbed Han by the middle and turned them, so that her back was against the wall and his was facing the entrance, mostly hiding her form from view behind his larger frame. She saw the questions in his green eyes, but also the resolve — she had a plan, and whatever it was he was prepared to go along with it.

Her blaster still held tight in her right hand, she put her left on his shoulder and tugged him down to her level, whispering in his ear. "Keep my hood up."

For a moment, Han looked at her like she'd never made less sense in her life, but then without preamble she put her mouth on his and suddenly it _clicked_.

This was _definitely_ a plan he was prepared to go along with.

He brought his hands up to her cheeks, engulfing her face in their warmth; all the while gripping the edges of her dark hood between his fingers, holding it up, obscuring part of her face and protecting her hair from view.

And by all the gods, this was not how either of them had imagined their first kiss, but then, it was so incredibly _them_ that Han wasn't sure why he was even slightly surprised. Heat always did seem to sizzle between them at the most inopportune and, frankly, inappropriate times. Why would their first kiss be any different?

Her face felt like it was on fire, and her cheeks burned pleasantly where Han's thumbs stroked them rhythmically back and forth.

Leia had one eye lazily watching the alcove entrance over Han's shoulder, the blaster pressed tightly between their bodies reminding her why they were here, but mostly — Leia hated to admit — she was focused on Han, and what he was doing to her. Or more accurately, the way her body was responding _to him._

He drew her lower lip into his mouth, sucking on it gently — and she could barely hear the sound of the troopers talking nearby over her involuntary groan — heart rushing loudly — _wildly_ — in her ears.

Leia's free hand found its way up and into his hair, fingers slipping through his silky, light brown mess. God, how long had she wanted to do that — two and a half years? It was softer than she'd imagined. She tugged lightly at the strands and Han let out a small grunt at the unexpected sensation. More pleased than she probably should have been at his response, she did it again, harder, and with purpose — experimenting — she felt his answering groan down to the tips of her toes.

She'd never felt the disparity in their sizes quite so acutely before. God, how was he _everywhere_? One hand still at her face, obediently holding onto the hood of her shawl, but the _other_ — god, the other — it ran leisurely but deliberately down her neck, tracing patterns into the delicate skin there. Before drifting down, squeezing her shoulder lightly, and then continuing its steady descent, stopping with a firm but pleasant pressure at her hip. She felt his palm, hot even through her layers of clothes, burning into her skin — warming up her entire body.

She felt Han's tongue run across the lip he'd just had trapped between his, requesting entrance, and _kriff_ did her knees feel weak when she granted it, like something out of a ridiculous daytime holodrama. But if it wasn't for the firm pressure of Han pressed against her front, and the solid wall against her back, she knew she would be a puddle of princess, pooled unceremoniously all over the ground.

She wished suddenly, fiercely, that she didn't have to hold the blaster between them. Like needing to scratch an itch when one of your hands is occupied, she'd never wanted to touch someone so badly in her life as she did Han in this moment.

God, she was an idiot for ever having thought that once would be enough. She'd imagined sometimes, alone in her bunk, that she should just _kiss him already_ , just get it out of the way, and maybe with some of the mystery gone, she could stop thinking about it. Focus on what was important — the Alliance — and put an end to the constant daydreams and musings about whether Han's lips would feel as amazing as they looked. (The conclusion by the way: yes, they very much did.)

But now, with a sinking feeling, she knew for sure: she would never be able to get enough of this. Would never get enough of _him._

It was like a dream come true and her worst nightmare all at once.

Somewhere in her periphery she took note of the sound of footsteps stalling, voices halting — and a tingle at the base of her neck that had nothing to do with Han, and everything to to do with the feeling that they were being watching.

But then after a moment — like the most monumental thing in the universe wasn't unfolding right in front of them — the footsteps picked back up again, the sound echoing against the stone walls until they disappeared into nothingness.

"They might come back," she heard herself say, voice uncharacteristically hoarse, when Han pulled away.

"Good point," Han muttered, leaning back in for more.

In the Alliance they knew, nobody was ever guaranteed tomorrow. Even though it would later be explained away as nothing — just undercover, didn't mean anything. This might be _it_ , they both reasoned, so they'd better make the most of it.


End file.
